


Contrite Debasement

by Verabird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blowjobs, Hair-pulling, M/M, Person Thinks They Can't Say No To Sex, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: Valjean gives Javert a blowjob........that's it.





	

“Satisfied? No.” 

Javert was not answering a question posited to him by Valjean, he was instead answering his own questions, simply raving, as he was want to do in such situations as this. 

“Indeed, can a man ever be satisfied? I doubt it, and such a thing should not be tested.”

Valjean nodded, or at least tried to. Javert’s fist was currently gripped in his hair, latching to his soft curls in a vice-like grip. Valjean made an attempt to incline his head and received pain for his troubles. The slight movement seemed to rouse something in Javert, as if he’d only just remembered that Valjean was on his knees before him and clutched in his grip. 

“This!” Javert exclaimed, gesturing wildly before him with his other hand. “This is not true satisfaction.”   


Valjean’s mouth parted slightly, but he thought better than to argue, even to say anything at all. When Javert was in such a mood it was better to simply sit in resignation until he had burned off steam. Valjean knew he could escape this grip at any moment, and yet it seemed better to remain as still as possible and let Javert run his thoughts without supplying any counter himself.

Valjean was so lost in this thought for a moment that he missed the swift movement that Javert made to reach out with his other hand and grasp for his throat. Javert had little concept of his own strength, instead his fist closed tighter still until Valjean made an audible choking sound. Javert stared for a moment, his eyes bright and wide, his eyebrow raised. Again, it was as if he had completely forgotten Valjean’s presence before him. He dropped the hand round Valjean’s throat, instinctively gripping the hand in his hair tighter. Valjean felt his eyes stinging, every slight tug and wrench sending pain through him from the top down. He did not wish to cry in front of Javert, it would prove him inadequate for this task. It was futile to protest such tears in this situation, he blinked, allowing a stream of tears to run down his cheeks. 

Javert glanced down, his eyes sharpening for a moment. Remembering his position he jerked Valjean forward with his fist so that Valjean would shuffle toward him on his knees. A hard task considering every small movement sent a shot of pain through the roots of his hair. Javert pulled him closer until his cheek was pressing close to the crotch of his navy uniform. Valjean could feel the hardness beneath it and his eyes slid up to regard the ferocity in Javert’s eyes once more. He was mostly surprised that Javert could remain relatively in command of his faculties, especially his voice, when he was hiding this straining pressure at the same time. An exquisite exercise in self-control. 

The only vague hint that Javert might be struggling was the slight waver in his other hand as it twitched close to the fastenings of his trousers. He spared Valjean another glance. “You do not have to do this,” He said gruffly, voice oddly small, as if he perhaps didn’t want Valjean to hear him. It would be better to force Valjean with his hand entirely. 

Valjean had fallen forward on his hands, the wood floor sliding beneath his fingers. Javert had stopped staring directly at him with those fierce eyes and was now staring at the floor some distance away. Valjean could hardly manoeuvre his head to meet them. 

“No,” He said softly. “If it helps, then I do not mind.”

Javert let out a frustrated groan, jerking his other hand and pulling on Valjean’s soft curls again with a sudden violent motion. Valjean whimpered and raised a hand as if to push him off, but stopped himself before he touched Javert. 

“But what does it help? What does anything? We-.. _ You _ do this, and I? Well, I feel unbearable shame afterwards.”

“The shame never truly leaves you, that is true.” Valjean raised his face as best he could and licked his dry lips. Javert looked down, caught the small but simple gesture, and let out a collected sigh. 

“And yet…” He trailed off, biting his bottom lip. “If I do not then it is even worse.”

“You must choose between temptation and shame.” Valjean offered this complex conundrum as if it were simple. 

“Shame,” Javert said. His other hand was now fumbling furiously with his uniform, freeing a desperate and wanting cock that had remained a prisoner for far too long now. “Always shame.”   


Once free, Javert slipped his other hand through Valjean’s hair and gripped even tighter than the first. Valjean took in and held a breath as he adjusted to the pain, then he closed his eyes and leaned forward. He took as much of Javert into his mouth as he could without choking, then paused for a moment before pushing forward further still so that he did choke. This was not meant to be a comfortable experience for him, that he knew, this was for Javert only. Not Javert’s soul, not quite that, but some other redeemable part of him that could be saved. Javert’s impeccable self-control had reached the roadblock of temptation and who was Valjean to deny him that?

As Valjean shifted on his knees his neck curved back slightly and Javert ran an absent finger along the exposed skin, taut and pale and smooth. Valjean choked a little more and tried to draw back, but Javert moved one hand to grip him by the jaw, tight and forceful, the other hand still clutching him by the hair. Valjean would simply have to find a way to cope for Javert would not relent. He blinked hard and reminded himself that this was meant to be painful for him.

Javert fucked his mouth with force and abandon, he seemed not to notice or care how hard he wrenched at Valjean’s hair, how many tears were falling down his cheeks, how much he choked as each thrust brushed his cock against the back of Valjean’s willing throat. 

Several moments of this purposeful thrusting went by before Javert spared Valjean a glance. He took in the soft white curls now in disarray, the wide eyes wet with tears, pupils dilated. Both his hands were still braced before him, far away from his own hardness, and Javert suspected Valjean would continue to deny himself that. Javert pulled out completely, one hand moving to stroke his cock, watching how Valjean moved forward slightly trying to take the cock back in his mouth even as it slipped away from him. His lips were red and swollen and wet and Javert licked his own lips in lust. His brow furrowed and he let out a groan in frustration and disgust. 

However, he had come this far, and so this anger manifested only in the way he took Valjean’s face in his hands and began fucking his mouth again with much greater ferocity and violence than before. Valjean let out a small yelp, but then concentrated hard on breathing through his nose so that he would not distract Javert with his unnecessary and pitiful noises. 

Javert came with a moan of his own and he pulled hard on Valjean’s hair, forcing him to remain with his mouth around his cock until he had ridden his climax to completion. Valjean would have stayed still and obedient regardless, but Javert’s hands had a force of their own. Valjean dutifully swallowed every drop and raised his eyes to Javert for further instruction. Javert watched as Valjean absently ran his tongue across his lower lip. Javert shuddered and closed his eyes, bringing a hand to his brow and pressing hard into his temples. 

“It is still unbearable,” He said quietly. “It is all a nightmare.”

“It is only shame.” Valjean hadn’t moved. He knelt completely still, his head bowed, his palms on the floorboards before him. “It will pass in a moment. It always does.”   


“Not for me,” Javert said, his voice raising. “It is a constant thorn in my side and can I pull it out? No! No of course not! That would be too simple!”

Javert had begun gesticulating wildly again, his voice rising to a combination of shout and growl. “I do not pull it out, a clever man would do so, and what am I? A fool! Instead I push it further in and it stabs me deeper, ha!”

Valjean winced, but otherwise did not move. “We could try again?” He suggested softly. His desperation was palpable, he wanted nothing more than to please, and if it meant his own contrite debasement then all the better.

“It will never do,” Javert muttered. His fingers were scrambling with his uniform, furiously fastening it. “I shall bleed shame for the rest of my life, and yet, no doubt, we shall do it all again.”   


Valjean bit his lip nervously, not daring to watch as Javert took a tentative step towards him then turned and stormed from the room, slamming his fist into the door frame for good measure. 


End file.
